Louise's Advent
by Aladoree
Summary: The events in Curse of the Black Pearl occur in a movie novelization, with the addition of an OC who is NOT a Mary Sue. WillElizabeth, JackOC. Very lengthy. Chapter 3 is posted.
1. Fog Bound

**A/N: **This will follow the movie for quite some time. There will be no trace of any original characters until chapter three. Please bear with me until then. ;) And -- do let me know if you like it and would like to see more! Enjoy. :)

Early morning fog blanketed the Caribbean, the shroud of white drifting gently over the waters in a playful gesture of Mother Nature. Although somewhat of an inconvenience to sailors, it was, nevertheless, beautiful in its own way. The tranquil rippling of the dark water flowed, uninterrupted, into eternity, jostled only now and then by some miscreant breeze that ruffled its waves condescendingly. But they were soon forced to still as a large ship cut its way effortlessly through them, prow aimed solidly southwest toward Jamaica, and the soon-to-be Port Royal. The H. M. S. Dauntless was one of the Navy's best ships that would soon make its berth in Port Royal, and a magnificent sight to behold, as well. Perhaps the wind and water gave the immense structure a grudging respect, but the young girl standing at the Dauntless's bow rail gazing seaward accorded it, with little doubt, the respect that it truly deserved. There was a keen wistfulness to her otherwise unreadable expression as she peered into the fog that pressed around them, and, ever so softly, began to sing a song that she had heard floating toward them, one night. Somehow, the lilting tune and adventuresome, brazen words had stuck with her. It was a song that glorified the life of a pirate, and as she sang, "A pirate's life for me, " there was a moment when her voice took on a different timbre, a strong cadence that spoke of surety beyond anything a mere child could ascertain. It abruptly faded, however, and even her young voice took pause as a hand suddenly clamped down on her shoulder. She turned, startled, and gasped aloud, staring wide-eyed at the weathered sailor who was glaring down at her with narrowed eyes.

"Quiet, missy!" he hissed. "Cursed pirates sail these waters. You don't want to call 'em down on us, do ye?"

Unable to answer, she merely stared back, almost relieved when a sharper voice rang through the air.

"Mr. Gibbs."

Lieutenant James Norrington was a man naturally predisposed to the ability of giving commands well -- and having them followed. Tall, straight-backed, and stern, he fixed a glare upon the cautious sailor. "That will do, " he said at last, with a tone of finality.

"She was singing about pirates, " Gibbs protested, even as he released his grip on the girl's shoulder. "Bad luck to be singing about pirates, with us mired in this unnatural fog -- mark my words."

Norrington's mouth settled into a slightly thinner line. "Consider them marked. On your way."

"Aye, Lieutenant, " the chastised sailor replied, inclining his head slightly as he stepped past the Naval officer. Casting a last glance back over his shoulder, he audibly muttered, "Bad luck to have a woman on board, too. Even a mini'ture one." With a grimace, he pulled out his flask and took a quick swig from it before resuming his deck-swabbing.

"I think it'd be rather exciting to meet a pirate, " the miniature woman ventured, after a moment, with a glance at Norrington.

Slightly amused, the Lieutenant stepped closer to the girl, resting a hand on the bow rail. "Think again, Miss Swann, " he responded, somewhat curtly. "Vile and dissolute creatures, the lot of them. I intend to see to it that any man who sails under a pirate flag, or wears a pirate brand, gets what he deserves." Pausing just slightly for effect, he added: "A short drop and a sudden stop."

As a confused frown worked its way over the child's visage, she peeked over at Gibbs, who paused in his work to helpfully mime a man being hung, pretending to choke and desperately flail for breath.

"Lieutenant Norrington, " Weatherby Swann began, concernedly, as he approached the officer and the wide-eyed girl, "I appreciate your fervor, but I'm concerned about the effect this subject will have on my daughter."

With a small nod, Norrington acknowledged the governor's words. "My apologies, Governor." He strode further down the deck, calling orders to one of the men carefully adjusting the ropes leading to the sails.

"Actually, I find it all fascinating, " the young Miss Swann informed her father, lifting her chin slightly.

"And that's what concerns me, " her father replied. "Elizabeth, we will be landing in Port Royal soon, and beginning our new lives. Wouldn't it be wonderful if we comport ourselves as befits our class and station?"

Somewhat chastised at the implications behind Governor Swann's tone, Elizabeth nodded, turning back to gaze out to sea as her father walked away. Her dark eyes strained to catch a glimpse of something -- anything -- through the fog, and soon made out the distinct shape of a parasol, floating steadily toward the Dauntless. A small smile came to the child's lips as she leaned slightly over the rail, watching its progress as it bounced carelessly off of the hull and moved past her line of vision. Her delight quickly evaporated, however, as she spotted something else floating toward the ship: A plank of wood, upon which was what appeared to be a person. As it broke through the fog and drew closer, she realized that there was someone floating atop it. A young boy lay on the wood, seemingly unconscious. Concern filled Elizabeth immediately, and she hastily turned toward the crew, gesturing to the water. "Look, a boy! There's a boy in the water!"

Norrington instantly rushed to the rail. Upon catching sight of the unconscious lad, he called, "Man overboard! Fetch a hook -- haul him out of there!" Sailors scrambled to the rail, utilizing rope and hook to haul the boy from the water, and onto deck, supervised by a relieved Norrington, who noted, "He's still breathing."

"Where did he come from?" Swann demanded, looking first to his daughter, and then to the sea.

Any answer that he may have received was thwarted by a sharp inhalation from Gibbs. "Mary mother of God ... " he gasped, staring at the no-longer empty sea. The waters, littered with wreckage and debris, drew expressions of shock from everyone aboard the Dauntless. Amidst the floating bits of wood, barrels, and items that obviously had once made their home in a lady's trunk, several bodies floated, creating an eerie sort of path to what was left of a once-proud ship. Its hull still burned, fire greedily consuming each post, each rigging, and left jagged lines in a mostly blackened, ragged flag of Britain that hung from the stern. As the Dauntless slipped past the wreck, hushed mutters broke out amongst her crew.

Shaken, Weatherby Swann stared at the burning ship as they moved past it. "What happened here?" he asked, a trifle weakly.

"An explosion midship -- most likely the powder magazine, " Norrington replied, undaunted. This wasn't the first such end he'd seen come to a ship of the British Navy. "Merchant vessels run heavily armed."

"Lot of good it did them, " Gibbs muttered, brow furrowing slightly at Swann's disapproving frown. "Everyone's thinking it, " he protested. "I'm just saying it: Pirates!"

"There is no proof of that, " the Governor cut in, sounding much as though he were attempting to convince himself as well as dispel such thoughts in the others. "It could have been an accident." Even to his own ears, he didn't quite sound as self-assured as he normally did. "Lieutenant, these men were British, and therefore, under my protection, " he added, attempting to instill a bit more dignity and confidence into his still-feebled voice. "If there is even the slightest chance that one of those poor devils is still alive, we cannot abandon them!"

Norrington inclined his head respectfully. "Of course not, " he responded, turning to the nearest sailor. "Rouse the Captain, immediately." As he peered down the deck, he ordered, "Come about and strike the sails! Unlash the boats! Gunnery crew -- jackets off cannons!" With the crew beginning to carry out his orders, his gaze found Swann's once more. "Hope for the best. Prepare for the worst." To the two men who were bearing the boy onto the deck, he added, "Move the boy aft. We need the deck clear."

Sighing, Swann placed a fatherly hand on young Elizabeth's shoulder, and steered her away from the bustling sailors. "Elizabeth, I want you to accompany the boy, " he informed her, seriously. "He's in your charge now. You'll watch over him?" Without waiting for an answer, he hurried away. As the two sailors gently placed the lad down behind the wheel, she followed, kneeling next to him worriedly. Regarding him studiously for a moment, she instinctively reached toward him, brushing locks of his hair away from his eyes, gently. A loud gasp and a hard grip on her wrist, impeding it from moving any further, told her that he was awake. Their eyes met: his, wide with fear and surprise; hers, concerned and warm.

"It's okay, " she blurted, attempting to reassure him. "My name is Elizabeth Swann."

"Will -- Will Turner, " he managed to get out, still staring up at her widely.

"I'm watching over you, Will, " she responded, quietly, relieved as his grip slackened, hand falling back to his side as he withdrew into unconsciousness once more. A frown touched Elizabeth's lips as she glanced at his shirt; his abrupt movements had caused the collar to open, revealing a golden chain about his neck. Eyes narrowing, curiously, she leaned forward and carefully tugged it free, revealing a golden medallion. Smoothing her thumb across the blank, empty side that stared up at her, she slowly turned it over, gazing with a mixture of fear and trepidation at the sight of the hollow-eyed, Aztec skull that gazed back at her. Eyes widening, she looked from the medallion to the unconscious Will, gasping softly, "You're a -- _pirate_." A quick glance over her shoulder revealed Norrington striding toward her. Hastily, she stood, hiding the medallion behind her back as the Lieutenant approached.

"Did he speak?" the officer inquired, gesturing slightly toward the boy.

Elizabeth took a deep breath. "His name is William Turner, " she said at last. "That's all I found out." She almost held her breath as Norrington's gaze fell to Will once more, then released it in relief as, apparently satisfied, he moved past her, calling orders to more of the crew. Crossing the ship to the stern, she dangled the medallion from its chain in one hand, examining it curiously all the while. As she gazed past it to the sea, the movement of a silent, immense ship caught her eye, eliciting a puzzled expression from the child. It was one of the largest ships she'd ever seen, but its truly unique attribute rested in pairs upon its masts. This galleon sported black, ragged sails. Suddenly too frightened to move or cry out, Elizabeth could only gape at this new ship, attention drawn to the flag flapping wildly from its mizzen-top: The Jolly Roger. Holding up the medallion, she stared from one skull to the other, comparing golden to white. They were, in all ways, exactly alike. As the ship seemed to disappear into the fog, the rapidly-fading flag waved defiantly at the girl, and the skull almost seemed to grin widely at her. Panicked, she shut her eyes.


	2. Will Turner

**A/N: **And here's chapter 2, just to give y'all an idea of chapter titles and things like that. I'm currently working on chapter 4, but will _not_ post chapter 3 until I get some reviews. ;) So -- review!

Elizabeth jolted awake, golden-brown eyes wide with fear and trepidation as she peered through the darkness of her bedroom, clutching the sheets to her. Might there be someone here with her? Heart pounding, she slowly pushed herself into a sitting position, still staring uncertainly into the shadows. After such a dream, one never really knew what to expect. The hint of a frown disturbed her countenance as she leaned over, turning up the flame of the oil lamp next to her bed. After a moment, she slowly climbed out of the canopied bed, carrying the lamp carefully toward her dressing table. Setting it down, she pulled open one of the drawers, and removed what dusty books, knicknacks, and trinkets were within. Beneath these treasures of a little girl was a carefully-crafted piece of wood, which she then lifted, revealing a hollow underneath that held the golden medallion. Almost reverently, the young woman freed the necklace from its confines, and smoothed her thumb across the side bearing the Aztec skull, much as she had done to the other side eight years before. Even with the passage of time, none of the medallion's luster or menace had faded; it still grinned as evilly at her as it had ever done in the past. Regarding it momentarily, she decisively crossed her room, and paused before her mirror. Slowly, she lifted the chain to her neck, fastening the golden trinket on with ease. The touch of the cold metal against her skin almost startled her, for all that she was expecting it. And yet, this particular metal felt different, colder, perhaps, than most jewelry would feel against bed-warm flesh. A booming knock on her door startled her out of her reverie, however; running toward her dressing table to close the drawer, she accidentally tripped over a chair, and winced, even as she hastily stuffed the medallion beneath her nightgown and replaced everything within the drawer.

"Elizabeth?" Governor Swann's voice was filled with concern, particularly at the loud thumps and scraping that he had just heard coming from his daughter's room. "Elizabeth? Is everything all right in there?"

"Yes, " she called back, somewhat agitated, as she pulled on a dressing gown, checking to ensure that the medallion was completely hidden, leaving little exposed save for its glittering chain.

"Are you decent?" Swann pressed.

"Yes!" Elizabeth replied, half-exasperated, straightening her gown just as the door opened, admitting Weatherby Swann, bearing a rather large box, and one of the family's long-time maids, Estrella.

"Still abed at this hour?" her father inquired jovially, even as Estrella crossed the room to the immense windows, and pulled back the heavy drapery, revealing the town of Port Royal, the sea, and Fort Charles. "It's a beautiful day." He paused, and then added, as if it were an afterthought, "I have a gift for you." He opened the box, revealing a crisply folded, gold-filigreed dress, which seemed far more beautiful than anything Elizabeth had ever seen.

"It's -- beautiful, " she managed to get out at last, pulling it partially from its wrappings to better examine it. Her eyes narrowed, somewhat suspiciously. "May I inquire as to the occaision?"

The governor's tone wavered slightly as he replied, "Is an occaision necessary for a father to dote upon his daughter?"

Pressing her lips together, she nonetheless removed the dress from the box, and stepped behind the changing screen in the corner. Estrella followed, and various articles of the young woman's clothing began to appear atop the screen as the ordeal began.

Swann stepped a bit closer to one of the windows, resting an arm momentarily on the sill. "Although ... I had hoped you would wear it to the ceremony today, " he finally admitted.

"Ceremony?" his daughter suspiciously questioned, from behind the screen.

"Captain Norrington's promotion ceremony, " he responded, as though stating the obvious. "Or, rather, _Commodore_ Norrington, as he's about to become."

Brow furrowing somewhat indignantly, Elizabeth peeked out from behind the screen. "I knew it, " she accused, frustratedly, then promptly disappeared from sight again.

Governor Swann attempted to smile. "He's a fine gentleman, don't you think?" There was no response. "He fancies you, you know, " he added, a trifle proudly. It wasn't just any young woman that James Norrington was attracted to; no, Swann was very proud, very proud indeed that it was _his_ daughter that such an esteemed Naval officer fancied.

Behind the screen, Elizabeth struggled as Estrella squeezed her into the corset, and began to lace it up tightly. She could offer no more than a loud gasp as a reply.

"Elizabeth?" her father pressed. "How's it coming?"

Gritting her teeth, she held her hair away from her face as Estrella continued to cinch up the corset. "It's ... difficult ... to say, " she managed to get out at last.

Swann glanced briefly toward the window. "I'm told it's the very latest fashion in London, " he said, in an attempt to console her.

Elizabeth, however, would have none of it. "Well, women in London must have learned not to -- breathe, " she gasped, wincing as Estrella finished. She began to take an experimental breath -- and abruptly thought better of it as her body protested strongly within its confines.

The butler appeared in the doorway of her room, and coughed discreetly to announce his presence. "Governor? A caller is here for you, sir."

Downstairs in the foyer, a tall young man, dark-haired, dark-eyed, and clad in rough clothing, stared at the finery around him with a guarded expression that allowed little more than curiosity to slip through. Instinctively, he rubbed the toe of each boot against the back of each pant leg, in the hopes that they might appear a bit more polished -- but to no avail. His appearance left much to be desired, and left him very much out of place.

"Ah, Mr. Turner!" Governor Swann greeted with a warm smile, as he came downstairs. "It's good to see you again."

Will turned, and offered him a polite smile in return. "Good day, sir. I have your order." Pulling the case out from under his arm, he opened it to display a brand-new, sheathed sword, clearly meant only for ceremonial or dress purposes.

Reverently, Weatherby Swann lifted it and drew the sword, staring with admiration at the attention to detail upon the hilt.

"The blade is folded steel, " Will explained quietly. "That's gold filigree laid into the handle. If I may -- " With a deferential nod, he took the sword from the governor, and balanced it on one finger where the sword met the guard. "Perfectly balanced, " he stated knowledgeably. "The tang is nearly the full width of the blade." With a sudden, practiced movement, he tossed the sword into the air, causing the weapon to swish perfectly, point over hilt, and caught it in the very same hand with ease. Clearly, it's something he has rehearsed many times.

"Impressive ... very impressive, " Swann complimented whole-heartedly. "Commodore Norrington will be pleased, I'm sure. Do pass my compliments on to your master." He failed to notice how Will's face fell, ever-so-slightly, at those words; the work was truly his.

"I shall, " Will responded, bowing slightly. "A craftsman is always pleased to hear that his work is appreciated -- " He abruptly paused, gaze going past the governor to the lovely young woman descending the stairs.

Swann, too, turned, and gave his daughter a pleased smile. "Elizabeth! You look stunning!" He smiled broadly.

Will opened his mouth as though to speak, paused, and closed it again, able to only nod in silent agreement.

Elizabeth descended the stairs, a delighted smile growing rapidly on her visage at the sight of the blacksmith's apprentice. "Will! It's so good to see you!" Her hand unconsciously lifted to rest just below her neck, where the medallion was hidden, as she stepped toward him. "I had a dream about you last night."

Weatherby Swann coughed a little, disapprovingly. "Elizabeth, this is hardly appropriate ... "

"About the day we met, " she pressed on, directing her words to Will. "Do you remember?"

A little smile came to Will's lips. "I could never forget it, Miss Swann."

She lifted her chin slightly, allowing a chiding note of patient exasperation to creep into her voice. "Will, how many times must I ask you to call me 'Elizabeth?'"

Forced to swallow before speaking, Will responded, "At least once more, Miss Swann. As always."

"Well said!" Swann agreed, heartily. "There's a boy who understands propriety. Now, we must be going." Taking the case from Will, he strode to the door and opened it.

Expression rather undiscernable, Elizabeth gathered her skirts, and for a brief moment, looked the young man in the eye. "Good day to you, Mr. Turner, " she said a trifle frostily, and walked past him out of the door, followed by her father and various servants.

Will followed them out, lingering by the doorway as the Swanns climbed into their carriage and were driven away. "Good day, " he murmured, adding with a slow smile to himself, "Elizabeth."


	3. Louise and Mr Smith

**A/N: **I relented and decided to post chapter 3, even though I've only received one review so far. ;) Chapter 4 is still work in progress, but almost half-way done. Be on the lookout for it! And, since I haven't added a disclaimer yet ... Disney remains the fortunate possessor of Pirates of the Caribbean. The only character that I own is the original one introduced in this chapter. :)

Warm breezes blew throughout the Caribbean that afternoon, cavorting merrily through skies filled with only the occaisional cumulus cloud here and there. The wind filled the sails of the Jolly Mon, conveying the small fishing boat across the waters toward Port Royal. Standing steadily atop the yardarm, a pirate frowned, dark eyes broodily considering the horizon before him. It was once full of freedom, promise, and indeed, plunder, but a man without his ship is much like a flower without water or sunlight. Such was the grim expression upon this tall, swarthy man's face. The end of the red bandanna tied about his head flapped haphazardly to and fro with the breezes, held firmly in place by a good, strong knot -- and kept in check by his worn, tri-cornered hat. A glance below caused his kohl-lined eyes to widen; the boat must have sprung a leak without his knowledge. With a frown, he leapt to the rigging, booted feet landing with a splash in the water-filled hull. His brow creasing, he annoyedly kicked his way through floating net buoys and fish heads, sharp gaze alighting relievedly on a tankard. He hastily lifted it, and began to bail, dumping water out of the hull as quickly as possible. The small boat slipped past a rocky promontory, from which the skeletal remains of four pirates hung, swaying eerily with the breezes. A fifth noose was left devoid of human remains, bearing instead a jagged wooden sign, which read: PIRATES, YE BE WARNED. This gave the pirate aboard the Jolly Mon due pause; the tankard fell from his fingers, unheeded, as he moved closer to the edge of the boat, regarding the skeletons silently. Slowly, he removed his hat, and touching his fingers to his forehead, gave them a respectful salute.

The harbor of Port Royal, dominated by the bulk of the H. M. S. Dauntless, bustled with activity, as it did on every afternoon. Sailors and various other seafaring men sat all around the perimeters of the docks, some hauling lobster traps out of the water, others checking ropes, and the like. One of the sailors with a rather grizzled beard caught sight of the floating tankard, and glanced up in astonishment to behold the Jolly Mon floating serenely toward the docks. Its commandeerer stood sturdily atop its mast, as though it were something he did on a daily basis, and simply stepped jauntily off of it onto the docks as the ship sunk. He had an odd step, a sort of swagger, which lent a peculiar flair to his gait that was quite unique. Really, most of the people had seen nothing like it before. Unfortunately, both his gait and garb contrived to make him stick out amongst the populace -- and the harbormaster blustered surprisedly as he brushed straight past him and his young assistant.

"Hold up there, you!" he called, causing the foreign man to slow his steps, and then turn back toward him. "It's a shilling to tie up your boat at the dock, " he explained, opening his ledger. Ignoring the dubious glance the man sent toward the floating mast, he added, "And I'll need to know your name."

The swashbuckler frowned slightly, and reached into his pocket to produce a small sack of coins, dropping three shillings onto the ledger. "What d'you say to three shillings, " he proposed, "and we forget the name?"

The harbormaster cast him a shrewd glance out of the corner of his eyes as he hesitated, and finally shut the book. "Welcome to Port Royal, Mr. Smith, " he said at last.

Mr. Smith placed his hands together and bowed a little, acknowledging the greeting. As harbormaster and assistant moved on, he resumed his swagger, pausing only to pick up a stray pouch of coins, jingle it, and slip it into his pocket. His attention was caught quickly enough, however, by the Interceptor, tied to a dock just below Fort Charles, and he turned his steps in that direction.

To the beating of drums and the calls of whistles and flutes, the marines stationed at Fort Charles marched stiffly with their rifles positioned on their shoulders. They were the pride of the King's Navy, excellent fighters with an even more excellent commander, or so Elizabeth's father often reminded her. Fanning herself every now and then, as all of the other ladies were doing, she watched the ceremony with half-lidded eyes. Her father, she noted silently, had a pleased, proud smile on his visage, as though he were promoting his own son to Commodore. Norrington certainly looked the part, she had to admit, in full ceremonial attire. As the marines presented their swords, and he passed under them, walking toward the governor, Elizabeth winced, and discreetly attempted to adjust the restrictive corset through her dress. All to no avail, however; the blasted thing simply wouldn't budge an inch.

"Your first time wearing a corset, Miss Swann?" the young woman next to her whispered behind her energetically waving fan, raising a brow as the other woman winced again. "They _are_ extremely painful. I'm still not quite used to mine, but at least I've gotten over my fainting spells. I used to faint everytime I wore a dress like that."

"They do make it rather hard to ... breathe, " Elizabeth gasped in reply, managing to stifle their conversation behind her fan. The sympathetic woman could only lean over to pat her arm in response as a hush fell over the audience.

Governor Swann presented Norrington with the sword that had been delivered earlier that day with a slight inclination of his head. Now that Norrington was a Commodore, he hoped that he would propose to Elizabeth. It was about time that she settled down and got married to a fine gentleman like him.

The newly-made Commodore unsheathed his sword, and held it up in a salute to the governor and to his men. The sunlight caught the edge of the blade, causing it to gleam as he tossed it to the other hand, briefly, turning to give a salute to the audience.

Below Fort Charles, the docks were fairly quiet. The heat made patrolling rather difficult -- or at least, that _had_ to be why two red-coated sentries were taking advantage of what little shade existed on the Navy's dock. They scrambled back to their posts hastily enough, however, as Mr. Smith sauntered toward them.

"This dock is off-limits to civilians, " Murtogg stated quickly, crossing his rifle briefly with Mullroy's, preventing the strangely-clothed sailor from stepping any farther.

Mr. Smith frowned a little. "I'm very sorry. I didn't know, " he responded. "I shall let you know if I see one." He attempted to brush past them and continue on toward the ships currently at anchor. The two wouldn't have it, however, and moved to intercept him, causing the pirate to glance slightly toward the Fort, where music drifted from. "Some sort of high-toned and fancy to-do up at the Fort, eh?" he queried, eyes narrowing a trifle. "How is it that two fine gentlemen -- such as yourselves -- did not merit an invitation?"

Murtogg's face colored slightly. "Someone has to make sure that this dock stays off-limits to civilians, " he answered promptly. Perhaps a little _too_ promptly.

Mr. Smith smiled. "A fine goal, to be sure. But it seems to me that a ship like _that_ -- " He pointed to the H. M. S. Dauntless, " -- makes this one here seem a bit superfluous, really."

The sentries exchanged a look at his tone. "Oh, the Dauntless is the power in these waters, true enough, " Murtogg admitted, "but there's no ship as can match the Interceptor for speed."

The pirate did raise an eyebrow at this. "That so? I've heard of one -- supposed to be fast, nigh uncatchable ... the Black Pearl."

Mullroy scoffed openly at this. "There's no _real_ ship as can match the Interceptor."

Murtogg frowned. "The Black Pearl is a real ship, " he protested.

"No it's not."

"Yes it is. I've seen it."

"You've seen it, " Mullroy repeated, incredulously.

"Yes."

"You've seen the Black Pearl?"

"Yes."

"You haven't seen it."

"Yes I have, " Murtogg insisted.

Mullroy turned his attention fully onto his partner. "You've seen a ship with black sails, that's crewed by the damned, and captained by a man so evil that hell itself spat him back out, " he stated, dubiously.

Murtogg paused. " ... No, " he responded at last.

"No, " Mullroy repeated, with a look that radiated a smug, 'I-told-you-so.'

"But I've seen a ship with black sails, " Murtogg added, confidently.

Mr. Smith rolled his eyes a little, and stealthily began to move toward the docks while the two marines continued their argument.

Mullroy gestured emphatically. "Oh, and no ship that's not crewed by the damned and captained by a man so evil that hell itself spat him back out could possibly have black sails, and therefore, couldn't possibly be any ship other than the Black Pearl. Is _that_ what you're saying?"

" ... no, " Murtogg admitted.

"Like I said, " Mullroy reiterated, finally turning back toward the place where Mr. Smith had been, "there's no real ship as can match -- " He paused, finding himself without an audience, and turning, immediately espied the swashbuckler standing at the wheel of the Interceptor, casually examining the mechanism. "Hey! You! Get away from there! You don't have permission to be aboard there!"

Mr. Smith feigned a look of the utmost innocence as the two sentries rushed onto the Interceptor's deck, weapons at the ready.

"I'm sorry, " he apologized, holding up his hands. "It's just that it's such a pretty boat -- I mean, ship."

"What's your name?" Murtogg demanded.

"Smith, " the current user of that appellation answered. "Or -- Smitty."

Mullroy's eyes narrowed as he continued to point his rifle at the strange man. "What's your business in Port Royal, _Mr. Smith_?" he inquired, suspiciously, followed almost instantaneously by Murtogg's chiming in, "And no lies!"

The pirate held up his hands in a hapless gesture. "Alright, I confess." He took a couple of steps toward them. "It is my intention to commandeer one of these ships, pick up a crew in Tortuga, steal, plunder, and otherwise pilfer my weasley black guts out."

Murtogg frowned. "I said, no lies."

"I think he's telling the truth, " Mullroy interjected.

"He's not telling the truth, " Murtogg retorted.

"He may be."

"If he were telling the truth, " Murtogg said, annoyedly, "he wouldn't have told us."

"Unless of course, " Mr. Smith broke in, "he knew you wouldn't believe the truth even if he told it to you."

The marines frowned, considering this, and exchanged glances.

The musicians at Fort Charles drew their bows over their violins, violas, celli, and basses, providing lovely background music to the incessant chatter of everyone socializing, congratulating the new Commodore, greeting the governor, and so on. Elizabeth remained oblivious to the music and chatter, fanning herself weakly. Beads of sweat perched on her forehead, and the young woman began to feel quite faint.

"Have some water, Miss Swann, " a friendly, feminine voice said quietly, briefly breaking into her daze. "It'll help. There's an alcove just across the way that we may able to get into and adjust that corset of yours." She frowned, sympathetically. "I've done it a time or two before."

Puzzled, Elizabeth accepted the offered cup, and regarded its bearer curiously whilst she sipped slowly at the cool liquid. It was the same young woman who had spoken to her at the ceremony. Dark-haired, dark-eyed, and bearing a rather peculiar accent, she was certain that this kindly stranger wasn't from England, or even a native of Port Royal. She didn't appear to be much older than Elizabeth, but carried herself differently, dipping her head demurely far more often than Elizabeth would ever agree or care to do. "You have the advantage of me, it seems, " she said at last, nodding briefly to the other.

"Do forgive me, " she replied at once, inclining her head in return. "Louise Dalton, Miss Swann. I'm Captain Dalton's daughter."

"It's a pleasure, Miss Dalton, " Elizabeth responded. "And please, call me Elizabeth. There's no need to be so formal."

The lady hesitated. "If you insist, " she said at last. "Then you must call me Louise, in return." She smiled a little.

"You're not British, are you?" Elizabeth wondered aloud, frowning as she ran her finger along the edge of her cup, thinking. Captain Dalton had moved to Port Royal several months before from a nearby colony that wasn't under the British crown. She just couldn't remember _which _crown it was under.

"No, Miss -- Elizabeth, " Louise replied, stifling a small laugh. "I'm actually half-French, and half-English."

"Half-English?" Elizabeth repeated. "Your mother was English, then?"

Louise never got the chance to respond; Commodore Norrington had chosen that moment to approach the two ladies and politely interrupt the conversation. "May I have a moment?" he asked Elizabeth, quietly, offering her his arm.

With an apologetic glance in Louise's direction, Elizabeth accepted it, and allowed him to lead her away from the party, toward the parapet. She immediately began to fan herself rapidly again; the knowledge of what was most likely to come, and the sudden onslaught of the heat made everything waver before her eyes. It was also getting more difficult to breathe.

"You look lovely, Elizabeth, " Norrington blurted after a long, momentous silence. He coughed a little as she frowned. "I apologize if I seem -- forward, but I must speak my mind." He paused, and turned his gaze seaward. "This promotion brings into light that which I have not yet achieved." His gaze sought hers. "A marriage to a fine woman, " he said at last. "And you have become a _fine_ woman, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth gasped for air, fanning even more rapidly as she began to lean toward the open air. "I can't ... breathe, " she choked out.

"I'm a bit nervous, myself, " Norrington admitted, turning slightly away once more. Thus, it was that he missed her sudden stumble, and her pitch forward off of the parapet. "Elizabeth?" he queried, suddenly noticing that she wasn't where she had been a mere second ago. "Elizabeth?" Eyes widening with fear, he hastened to the edge and peered over, watching her just miss the jagged rocks at the cliff's base before plummeting into the ocean. "ELIZABETH!" Frantically, he made his way onto the top of the parapet and began removing his coat, preparing to dive after her.

"The rocks, sir!" Lieutenant Gillette shouted, as he grabbed the Commodore's arm and held him back. "It's a miracle _she_ missed them!"

Impatiently, Norrington peered downward again, and realized that Gillette was right. Irritated, he shook off the lieutenant's arm, and began to run out of the Fort.


End file.
